Getaway
by Rydain
Summary: A surprise trip to Vegas brings its own unforeseen delights. Modern alternate universe slash, sequel to The Scholar and the Brawler.


**Getaway**

_A surprise trip to Vegas brings its own unforeseen delights. Modern alternate universe fic, sequel to The Scholar and the Brawler._

_Rated for explicit sexual content._

* * *

><p>Cao Ren raised a brow at his calendar, wondering who had gotten it in their head to prank him. Then he remembered that the first of April was over a month away, and this anomaly even closer.<p>

His immediate future was the usual checkerboard of meetings and appointments and continuing education in management. A chat with contractors here, a building inspection there. A rare lunch with Lu Meng, whose schedule as of late had been a barely constrained tornado. Two guys, one apartment, and little in the way of romance as professorial duties and construction season both ramped up to high gear. They planned their time together like anything else, preferring guarantees to guesswork. Neither of them were much for spontaneity when the odd whim generally got steamrolled under the demands of their careers.

Shortly thereafter, the neat rectangles dropped off into a weeklong void. Solid blue, simply described.

VEGAS.

Maybe it was an upcoming business trip. Phoenix Properties had turned a record profit last quarter, with Cao Cao dropping some resultant hints about acquiring more assets. He could very well have the fortitude to leap across state lines and far up in the market. Yet Cao was more Main Street than Wall Street - driven toward sustainable prosperity, not so much reckless expansion. Ren doubted his boss would aim into the stratosphere just to run out of gas halfway up.

Cao's door was open. He looked up as Ren approached, waving him in before he had a chance to give a courtesy knock. He leaned back in his tufted chair, eyes agleam with a conspiratorial twinkle.

"I thought you should know of my gambling problem."

Cao prided himself as a connoisseur of wagers, a master of maneuvers equally suited to precarious deals at the board room and poker table. The higher the stakes, the greater his intrigue, and he had a way of eking out hard-fought victory. If some bet had gone horribly wrong -

"Too many incentives, no time to enjoy them."

Ren smiled, relieved and embarrassed by his silly concern. Then he realized that the shoe had yet to drop, and that Cao was handing him an envelope. It contained a pair of plane tickets to an obvious destination. Ren held them up quizzically, letting them serve as their own inquiry of rationale.

"I presume you noticed your schedule. I also presume your man can tear himself away from his work." The unsaid implication confirmed Ren's suspicions. Cao had booked this trip over spring break.

Ren supposed he should mind his manners. Offer thanks. Take the tickets, then find a way to transfer them to some lucky winner all set to dive in and go wild and flush their bank account down the toilet. Instead, he only managed an objection. "We don't gamble."

"No time like the present to try."

"We're homebodies. You're aware of this."

Cao shrugged. "All the more reason to mix it up. Live it up. Get a bit of excitement going."

"We adopted a second cat." They had fallen in love at first sight of the playful orange marbled tabby on the shelter's website. Galileo - Leo for short - had poked his head out of the carrier and proceeded to boss his way around the apartment, as if insisting that the earth really did revolve around him. Shadow had squirreled himself away in the closet, then under their bed, attempting to disappear into his namesake as he took stock of the usurper. With treats and attention and patience, the two had reached a mutual agreement. But it was not quite a friendship, and its early tensions remained.

"If that's excitement, I'd hate to see boredom."

Ren snorted. "You and Yuan both." Their cousin had four rowdy boys and minimal tolerance for quiet time. His assessment of their place - _It's like a damn library in here. Why don't you get a dog or something? A real one, not one of those little yappers. _Meng had declared himself librarian and told Yuan to zip it, musing that it might have also sufficed to crank Bach up to eleven.

"Great minds think alike, eh?" Cao waved a dismissive hand. "Go. Do some research. You may be pleasantly surprised."

Back at his desk, Ren did as suggested. He found amusement rides and wax museums, the arid splendor of the surrounding desert. Acrobats and performance art, magicians who dealt in sardonic panache rather than big budget braggadocio. The mystery week had been a disconcerting blank in a life doled out into precise allotments of time. It began to stretch invitingly before him, a flashback to countless teenage days bumming around with Yuan and neither aim nor goal in mind. Somewhere between then and now, Ren had forgotten how to let go and let fly. Perhaps it was time to take a spin, to set the ball careening around that great and random wheel.

And perhaps not just in the proverbial sense.

* * *

><p>Lu Meng scratched his stubble, sipped his coffee, stared at the scribbles on his notepad. He needed a focus, he needed a direction, and they both continued to dangle somewhere out of his grasp. His thoughts and citations, spread out individually on index cards, were failing to congeal into a logical starting point. There had to be an ace in this deck, but Meng only saw jokers.<p>

Meng considered his lesson plans, his article ready for a bit of final polish. His voice of reason reminding him that he could use a change of pace. He mentally swept them all aside, refusing to concede defeat. Just five more minutes. That was all. Five more minutes, and he would surely have something. An inkling. A pithy phrase, a section subject. A cranial lightning bolt to kick the gears out of frustrated torpor. Five more minutes, and Meng realized that his drink had gone cold and the clock had run away in the meantime.

Shadow had been napping on his desk pillow. He bolted at the sound of the front door, knocking over Meng's mug. Meng swore aloud and ran for a towel as the coffee pond spread into a lake. "All right, universe," he grumbled. "You win this round."

Cao Ren took a jaunty step into the study as if he had won something as well. He stopped, looking over the carnage. "Bad time to talk?"

"I've made shit for progress and had half my notes wiped out by a random act of cat." Meng finished mopping up with a sigh. "How was your day?"

"Better, but it can wait." Ren lifted a damp index card by its corner, holding it up to the light. "These are salvageable. Might be a bit hard to read, though."

"Yeah, you're right. It's preferable to recopying them all, at least."

They blotted the worst of the cards and spread them out to dry. Meng surveyed the mess once again, realizing that it was nowhere near disastrous in any sense. Frustration simply had its way of sneaking up on him and twisting the world through its pessimistic lens. Meng would come back to his work, find some means to move forward. And for now, give himself the respite he had been too stubborn to take of his own volition.

"So what were you on about earlier?"

Ren produced a pair of tickets as if revealing a birthday surprise months ahead of schedule. Meng furrowed his brow at the destination, one of the last places he would have ever chosen if given a chance to decide. He craved history, culture, calm. Instead he held two golden tickets to a funhouse maze of unnaturally orange people, more likely to deliver a lifetime supply of debt than of chocolate. And, like the reference in mind, not exactly fun.

"Vegas?"

Ren smiled. "Believe me, I had the same reaction."

"So this wasn't your idea."

"Blame my boss."

"He considers this a favor?"

"Yes, he does. And I'd have to agree with him."

Ren took out his phone as Meng waited for an explanation. He handed it over with a silent flourish, allowing the pictures to speak for themselves.

Flowers blooming pink against a panorama of scrub and sand and mountains. Gymnasts perched with erotic poise on the edge of a giant champagne glass. Exhibits of atomic tests, mob wars, Southwestern art. A look down the midway of some strange and wondrous carnival - a rabbit hole that Meng found himself peering further into, and with less and less fear of falling.

Ren spoke up as the slide show switched over to a quiet scene of old world storefronts beneath a twilit blue sky. "That's our hotel."

"That's inside?"

A nod. "There's even a canal."

"No kidding." Gondolas floated in the clear bright water at the bottom of the photo. "Is this a modern world wonder or a shameless fabrication? It's hard to decide."

"I'd go for the first myself. Can't help but admire the logistics of running a place like that."

"You and your left brain." Meng shook his head with a grin. "I'll have to haul you into some of those art museums."

"No hauling necessary."

"Good." Meng nudged Ren's burly shoulder. "Because I doubt it would be physically possible."

"Just throw me a football. I'll chase it."

"Or I could run in there sans pants."

A laugh. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

><p>The guys enjoyed an uneventful plane trip. Cao Ren went to get the car while Lu Meng headed for the baggage claim. On the way over, he received a text from Xiahou Yuan. <em>Pick a winner for me, cuz! But not in public.<em>

Ren's eyebrows shot up at the vehicle description on the rental agreement. When led outside to said vehicle, he did his best to play it cool.

Rag top. Sleek curves of flecked obsidian. Burled wood interior, instruments chased in chrome. Ren slid behind the wheel, resisting the urge to let his fingers trail over its polished surface. The engine rumbled to life with a rich, throaty growl, and Ren allowed it to percolate briefly before driving off. He could never justify setting foot in a luxury dealership, let alone signing a lease on one of these beauties. Today was all about flipping on his sunglasses and turning up the tunes. Ren decided on electronica with a languid bass groove, a deep winding underline for this hot bright afternoon.

Meng hopped in with a whistle. "You have to send Yuan a picture."

"Already taken care of." Over the course of high school, Yuan had salvaged a rusted hunk of muscle into a respectable ride. He sometimes tinkered with his workhorse truck, upgrading the sound system and lifting the chassis. Yuan maintained a dream of restoring another ruined classic when he had the time and space and no pressure to sell the result. Or of buying one outright, but he doubted that was likely to happen.

The drive was quick, the day's heat dry and refreshing. The iconic welcome sign ushered them into the glorious mayhem of the Strip, and Ren kicked up the volume as they passed it by. He half expected a good-natured jibe in response. Meng only leaned back, resting an elbow on his door. The city soared high around them in retro flair and classic revival and ultramodern polish. Vegas had not evolved so much as exploded like a fireworks display of brick and glass and neon. There was a certain charm to its style, an appeal within its gleeful dissonance. Bawdy and brazen, yet somehow sophisticated, and all spread out for the taking.

Ren pulled into the grand entrance of their hotel, handing the keys over to a valet. The guys stepped inside and their gaze wandered up as they made a concerted effort to keep their jaws off the gleaming marble floor. The lobby was a rococo extravaganza of columns and cornices and gilded trim. Frescoes adorned the high arched ceiling, angels cavorting among celestial banquets. Meng gave a nudge and an amused gesture skyward. "Check that out. They even got some of the Sistine Chapel in here."

At the front desk, a concierge greeted them with brisk poise. Her eyes lit up as she processed their reservation. She excused herself with a barely concealed grin, bringing a discreet notebook back with her.

"I was asked to offer you this."

Ren almost laughed, more at the sentiment than at the anachronism of keeping a literal black book in the digital age. In times past, Cao Cao had periodically tried to drag him out of his shell - set him up, get him laid for its own sake. It never worked. And even now, within a yearlong relationship, Cao saw fit to share a taste of his own predilection for variety. "No thanks."

She shrugged. "Call down if you change your mind."

On their way up in the elevator, the phone lit up with Yuan's response to the photo sent earlier. _Thanks for the stiffy. Enjoy the ride._

A snort. "Am I the only one in this family without sex on the brain?"

"I hope not."

Ren squeezed Meng's waist. "I make an exception for you."

Their room turned out to be a suite with a view, decorated in fine fabrics of red and tan and ivory. The bed was king sized, the bathroom marble, the furniture ornate with rosette carvings. Vases of greenery exuded the sweet fragrance of spring. The Strip was a riotous spangle in the early dusk, with a craggy ridge of mountains visible across the distant horizon.

The guys checked out the hot tub, the mini bar, the other amenities arranged throughout their room. Meng peeked into the nightstand with a laugh. "Flavored oil? They really do think of everything."

"Seems that way. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

Ren brought out his phone, began to look through the nearest options. "Want to go out?"

Meng had already kicked off his shoes. He flopped on the bed, taking a lackadaisical stretch.

"I'd rather stay in."

Meng's dark wavy mane cascaded over the pillows, still windblown from their drive. His collar was open, his partially untucked shirt baring a wedge of flat belly. His eyes met Ren's, glinting as they read each other's minds.

Ren removed his own footwear and slid in to join him. Room service was looking better and better indeed.

* * *

><p>Time slipped by in freeform bliss. The guys indulged at the fanciest buffet within crawling distance of their hotel. They caught a magic show involving a load of snark, even more blood, and the apparent death and resurrection of its costar. They took a long hike through the refuge of Red Rock Canyon, where streams cascaded, yucca bloomed gold and purple amid the hardy vegetation, and petroglyphs remained faintly etched high atop cliffs of sandstone.<p>

The day after was all about a late sleep, a delivered lunch, and an afternoon movie. The guys headed out in the evening, aimlessly wandering through the mazelike network of casinos and courtyards and foot bridges over the bustling Strip. On the way through yet another gambling hall, they began to get distracted by the merchandise. They observed a few rounds of roulette, took a slow detour past some of the zanier slot machines. Cao Ren soon found himself reaching for his wallet.

"Bells and whistles getting to you too, eh?" Lu Meng quirked a brow. "Pavlov would be proud."

"Yuan told me to pick a winner. This one's for him."

Meng laughed at the choice of slots. "Never pegged him for a disco fan. Should I even ask?"

"Ask him how much he wanted to be a macho man before he found out what the song really meant."

The guys won a few, lost a few, and left on a high note with a pocketful of dollars. They hit up a sushi restaurant for a light dinner and a choice sampling of sake. Instead of turning back toward the hotel, they decided to keep on walking. The pounding beat of a nightclub could be heard from the next block over, and a roped line stretched up the street toward them.

"Ever gone to one of those?"

"Once." Which had ended with the same headache, ringing ears, and annoyance over wasted time brought about by the last attempt to shop the holiday sales. At least Ren had gotten some deals out of that particular nightmare of sensory overload. He had left the club with even less understanding of its intended appeal.

"Same. I've never been much for dancing."

"Me either."

"Didn't you have to take ballet or whatnot?"

"Some do, I'm sure. We didn't. That would have ruined Coach's fun. He loved his agility drills, and did we ever know it." Ren had to laugh at his ensuing mental tangent. "Besides, can you imagine me prancing around in a leotard?"

A salacious smirk. "Mmmm."

"Your bias is showing."

"You expected any different?"

They lingered, watching the crowd in all its plumage. Miniskirts, strappy halters, stiletto heels. Glowing tans, gold chains, gaudily silkscreened shirts. And a few, like them, in dress slacks and button-downs. Ren found himself tapping a foot to the driving bass, the thick layered synths, the distant soaring vocals. Perhaps he would not trip over himself this time.

"The music's not bad."

"It's rather good, actually. Catchy, too."

A shared glance, and the guys got in line. After all, they would only be here once.

* * *

><p>The dance floor was vast and teeming around the elevated stage. Lights swirled down from the rafters in a frenetic kaleidoscope. The crowd surged to the beat, wild in its vibrant reverie. A collective force, a human wave pool crashing against its shore. And with no point of entry but a dive into the deep end.<p>

Lu Meng looked dazed. Cao Ren caught a distant memory of the few parties he had gone to, where everyone knew how to move and he had never bothered to try. Curiosity was meek, self-consciousness rampant, and a faceoff well out of the question. But that was then, and this was now. And now was theirs to seize, luring them forth with the voice of a virtual siren.

The guys jumped in. The horde engulfed them.

Their feet found a sway, and their hips followed suit. They put their hands in the air and a snap in their shoulders. Meng shook his head with a smile, trying to holler over the din. His voice went unheard, but his lips got the message across. Ren hooked an arm around his waist and yanked him into a kiss. Reassuring him, in words unspoken, that he did not look ridiculous at all.

The guys stayed close as the tunes mellowed into a sensual groove. The lights also slowed, revealing snapshots of the dancers nearby. Heads thrown back, hips undulating. Hands on buttocks and bare bellies, dangerously approaching the swell of breasts. Sweat and lust, primal avarice. Communal abandon, freeing in its anonymity.

Ren let his hands slip lower as Meng's weighed hot on his shoulders. The rhythm pulled them together again and again, nearer and nearer and almost daring to touch. Ren flushed, indiscreet and rising within the satin of his boxers. He burned brighter when he felt the prod of Meng's own arousal. Their grips clenched as their hips pressed into each other, firm and strong and agile.

A small and distant voice told Ren to draw back, to show some dignity. He was neither flamboyant nor wanton. He was an asset manager with a compact car and a daily trimmed beard and a judicious investment portfolio. He was far away from it all in a city of heat and rhinestone hedonism, a city that kept its secrets safe. Decorum be damned. He was about to explode.

The guys stopped, locked eyes, joined hands. They weaved their way to the staircase by the near end of the dance floor, then up into a hall of private rooms. Several were latched. One opened.

Low lights. Leather couch. Vacant. Jackpot.

They slipped in, bolted the door, fell upon each other. Their kisses were voracious, their groping flagrant. Ren brushed greedy fingers over Meng's fly, noticing a suspicious lump in his pocket. It turned out to be lube.

"Sneaky."

"Prepared."

"You or me?"

"Up to you."

Ren briefly twitched at the thought of sinking himself into that tight embrace. The alternative elicited an undeniable shudder. He demanded takeover, craved surrender - to the music, to Meng, to the night in all its libertine glory. He was wanting and ready, wide open in every sense of the term.

Ren unbuckled, bared himself, bent over the back of the couch. The fingers brought a grunt of approval, the rest a rough gasp as he stretched to the brink in one thrust.

This act had previously been awkward at best, more about accepted discomfort than mutual pleasure. Tonight Ren was rocked off the floor with its own rhythm, struck deeper and deeper by a great and rolling friction. Pounding and pressure, gathering steam, shuddering toward liftoff. And then fluorescence burst through the fog, a rocket shooting skyward in clouds of silver afterburn. Nails dug in as Meng hung on for the ride, pinpricks like stars through the evaporating smoke.

A quick cleanup, a trashcan burial of the sacrificial shorts, and they made their stealthy escape.

* * *

><p>Later that night they took their patient time, slow kisses and belly rubs and teasing fingers. They tried the oil. The verdict was unanimous.<p>

They both tasted better without it.

* * *

><p>It was past noon by the time Lu Meng woke. Cao Ren had beaten him, also in no hurry to get up. He lounged on his back, the sheets tangled low around his thickly muscled torso. His beard was a touch shaggy, his hair in tousled spikes. Meng admired his broad hands with a shivered memory of their firm and thorough dexterity. Perhaps a full day beneath the covers would be time well spent.<p>

"Any thoughts for today?"

"Not yet." Meng yawned, rolling over to face him. "Going to be hard to top last night."

Ren gave an amused snort at the pun, which had for once been unintentional. "That's terrible."

"It's true."

"It certainly is. You wore me out."

A sly smile. "I could try to break my record."

"Maybe later. At this point, I think a show is more my speed."

"That, or a food coma." Meng thought back to their feast of several days past. "We never did get around to trying all those desserts."

"We could see a museum."

"We could get married."

The words had been lurking in wait for a moment that never seemed perfect enough. When Ren peered at him for several stunned seconds, Meng feared he had spoken too soon. The warmth in those widened eyes made it clear that he had not.

"You're serious."

"Of course."

Ren took Meng into his arms for a long and lazy kiss. They lay face to face, comfortably entwined as they gazed into each other's eyes. The two of them had always meshed, right from the outset. Enthalpy and entropy. The calm and the storm. Earth and fire, grounded and windswept, guiding each other toward the balance they both desired.

"What would you prefer? Elvis or serious?"

"Honestly? I'd rather wait for home. Take our time. Plan a party."

"So that rules out Elvis, then."

"We won't miss him." Ren grinned. "I'm sure Yuan will properly embarrass us at the reception."

"Is it sad that I'm looking forward to that?"

"Of course not. It means you're already part of the family."


End file.
